


A Very Supernatural Easter

by DejaV, RIred



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Easter, Fluff, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DejaV/pseuds/DejaV, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RIred/pseuds/RIred
Summary: Sam: “You need to get back in the game for your own good. You can beat this, Dean.”Dean: “Do you really believe that?”Sam: “Yeah, you’re damn right I believe that.”Dean: “You know, you also believed in the Easter bunny till you were 12.”Sam: “No, I didn’t. [pauses] Look, I was 11.”Dean: “And a half”Sam: “And a half. Right.”Sam: “So?”Dean: “Okay.”-Supernatural Episode, “About a Boy,” Adam Glass, February 3, 2015





	A Very Supernatural Easter

A Very Supernatural Easter

_Sam: “You need to get back in the game for your own good. You can beat this, Dean.”_

_Dean: “Do you really believe that?”_

_Sam: “Yeah, you’re damn right I believe that.”_

_Dean: “You know, you also believed in the Easter bunny till you were 12.”_

_Sam: “No, I didn’t. [pauses] Look, I was 11.” _

_Dean: “And a half”_

_Sam: “And a half. Right.”_

_Sam: “So?”_

_Dean: “Okay.”_

-Supernatural Episode, “About a Boy,” Adam Glass, February 3, 2015

Sam, Age 7

“He didn’t come! He forgot us!” The seven-year-old’s shouts filled the dirty motel room. Although the sign at the road proclaimed the motel to be a “Clean Suites,” the stacks of used cereal bowls and chip bags scattered around the room suggested otherwise.

Sam’s whines increased in volume until stomps from the upstairs occupants sent dust and plaster raining down. Dean’s cheeks burned as he attempted to quiet his now-sobbing younger brother. “Sammy, Sammy,” he soothed. “He didn’t forget about us. He just…uh…well, he…” But his feeble efforts trailed off as Sammy’s cries peaked. “Oh hell,” Dean muttered, “He’s not here because he had to go fight some monsters.”

Immediately, and conveniently like he was faking it, Dean thought, Sam stopped his loud cries. Sniffling, he asked, “Really?”

“Of course,” Dean assured, trying to stave off the feelings of guilt at finally breaking his father’s confidence and revealing the “family business” to his kid brother.

Sam, predictably, looked very confused. With a doubtful look, he demanded, “But why does the Easter bunny fight monsters?”

“He, well, uh,” Dean thought a moment, then realizing what Sammy had just asked, he started again. “Wait…the Easter bunny?”

“Yeah,” Sammy sniffled. “Who else?”

Dean exhaled sharply. Cursing himself on the one hand for inventing a monster-fighting Easter rabbit and glad, on the other, that he hadn’t just blown his dad’s cover story. “Where is Dad?” had been Sam’s constant refrain for the last three days as the boys waited alone and bored in a fleabag motel in Dodge City. John Winchester, Dean knew, had left the boys to pursue some djinn, but had not returned or even called since then.

Such a long absence was not unprecedented, although Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious. Each time, he could never quite loosen the knot in his throat until that moment when he heard his father’s secret knock and gruff voice.

Sammy, however, was usually inconsolable, so Dean was relieved to be talking about something other than their dad for the past few minutes.

“The Easter Bunny has been fighting monsters for years,” Dean continued, trying to act nonplussed by the bizarreness of the conversation. “I’m sure after he finishes off whatever he’s fighting he’ll bring you something.”

That night after Sam went to sleep, Dean snuck out of their motel room and spent a few of their last dollars at the vending machine, buying candy.

Sam, Age 8

“Did you make that?” Dean asked incredulously about the paper plate monstrosity with big ears and sharp teeth, as the brothers walked back to the Sleepy Pastures Motel after school.

“Yes,” Sam huffed. “My class had an Easter party today and we all had to decorate rabbits. I gave mine big teeth so that he could fight the monsters, but the teacher said that that wasn’t true!”

Dean had forgotten about his little lie from last Easter, but apparently his brother hadn’t. Quickly, Dean tried to think of a way to justify his Easter-Bunny-as-hunter creation. “Well Sam, you see… not everybody knows about monsters. Most people would be too scared of them. Think of the Easter Bunny as a secret agent, fighting evil without anybody knowing.”

Sam spent the whole walk peppering Dean with questions. “No, Santa isn’t real.” “I’m not sure about the tooth fairy.” “The Easter Bunny eats carrots just like regular bunnies, but a lot more since he needs the energy.” “He doesn’t have a home; he travels around fighting monsters.”

“What kind of monsters does he fight?” Sam asked as they walked through the door to their motel room.

“Dean,” John Winchester growled. “Why is Sam asking about monsters?” As far as the boys’ father was concerned, Sam had no business knowing about the supernatural at his age. In believing this, he willfully ignored the fact that Dean had learned about monsters far earlier.

“I was just telling him about how the Easter Bunny fights monsters!” Dean said defensively. He gave his father a look that said “play along.” “You know like trolls and goblins,” he continued. “And how he tries to make deliveries on time, but sometimes he has other things to do.”

John didn’t quite know what to make of this discussion. With a wordless shrug and a grunt, he went back to writing in his journal.

Sam, Age 9

“So Dad really fights monsters?” Sam asked. The boys’ father had recently sat Sam down to give him “the talk” just outside of Jackson. In the Winchester household, “the talk” was less about birds and bees and more about werewolves and wraiths. Ever since that talk, little Sam had been brimming with questions about the supernatural.

“Yup,” Dean replied, barely listening. He was busy in the motel’s small kitchenette, trying to open a container of hot dogs with a large hunting knife that his father had left behind. Dean cursed loudly when the knife sliced through the package suddenly, spilling hot dogs and hot dog juice on the floor. “What?” he shouted roughly. It was hard to hear his brother over the sounds of bubbling mac and cheese. 

Sam repeated himself, not bothering to move from his spot in front of the TV or to turn down the animated sounds of Scooby Doo that blared from the set. “I said,” he bellowed, “does Dad work with the Easter Bunny?”

Sam could hear his brother suddenly drop the large hunting knife on the linoleum. “Come again?” Dean said, entering the room with a puzzled expression on his face.

Sam was unfazed by his brother’s confusion. “The Easter Bunny,” he repeated patiently, “Does Dad hunt monsters with the Easter Bunny?”

Dean stood for a moment longer, not saying a word. He seemed to be making up his mind about something. Finally, he said, “Listen, Sammy. This has gone on long enough.” He moved further into the room and turned off the TV set. As the picture of the Mystery Machine faded to black, the room became almost silent, the sudden quiet underscoring the importance of Dean’s confession. “Sammy,” Dean started, “the Easter Bunny doesn’t really fight monsters. All that stuff…well, it’s not real. None of it. It’s time you started learning what is real and what isn’t.”

He stopped, waiting for his words to sink in. His little brother looked hurt. Sam’s face was downturned, his hands hanging limply in his lap. Immediately, Dean was sorry he had turned off the TV. He genuinely pitied his brother in this moment. In a few months, Sammy’s reality had been shattered. First, he had learned that monsters and the bad things of nightmares were real and walking the Earth, now the poor kid had found out that the Easter Bunny was fake. Dean felt a deep sadness well inside him—memories of when his own reality had broken. Dean remembered the night his mother died, the night Sam became his responsibility, the night he learned that the world was full of monsters. That night still haunted Dean; it was the breaking of his innocence and the abrupt end of his childhood. It was the darkness that dwelt in every night Dean went to sleep without hearing from his father.

Suddenly, Sam looked up. His eyes were watery and his mouth was set in a sharp line, fighting back tears. In a soft voice, he whispered, “So…he just delivers candy?”

Dean shook, as though waking up from a dream.

“The Easter Bunny,” Sam clarified. “he doesn’t fight monsters, so he just delivers candy?”

Dean waited a beat. “Uh, yeah,” he said. He seemed about to say something more, but then seemed to reconsider it. Without another word, he turned and walked back to the kitchenette.

Sam could hear his brother cursing again and the smell of burnt cheese from the other room. The sounds comforted him; they made sense, they felt like home. With all the grace of a nine-year-old, he rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand and sniffled loudly. Then he leaned forward to turn the TV back on. As he settled himself again in front of the set, he reached into the green and pink basket beside him. He plucked out another piece of candy, tore the foil quickly, and popped the chocolate into his mouth. Silently, to himself, he thanked the Easter Bunny.

Sam, Age 10

“Sammy!” Dean’s shout rang across the desolate parking lot. It was one o’clock in the morning.

“Sammy!” he called again fiercely. His voice echoed for several seconds until it was overshadowed by faint sounds from their motel room. Straining his ears, Dean could hear Sam scrambling from his bed and cursing as he readied himself as quickly as possible. Suddenly, the door to the motel room flew open and Sam emerged into the misty night air.

Blinking rapidly to chase the sleep from his eyes, Sam grumbled, “Dean? What’s wrong? Is it that shifter again?”

When he got no response, Sam scanned the lot. The scene was bleak—there were no other residents around, although there were two cars. One car, barely more than a dented pile of scrap, probably belonged to the motel owner. The other, the Impala, was parked several doors down with the driver side door open.

Dean was leaning against the Chevy with a half-cocked grin on his mouth. “Hey, bitch. That was absolutely terrible. I would have gotten my ass kicked twice over by the time you showed up to help.”

Seeing that his brother was all right, Sam sighed deeply and started sauntering over. “I knew you were just playing. If you were really in trouble, I would have come out faster.”

“Yeah,” Dean snickered, “and you would have done so much damage with that water pistol.”

Sam looked down in his hands and his cheeks reddened. It wasn’t the Smith and Wesson that Dean had been teaching him to shoot with. Instead, his right hand held a small black squirt gun. Dean had used it to wake Sam up yesterday morning.

“You know,” Sam said sternly, “you’ve been really into the practical jokes lately. It’s kind of little kiddish.” He hoped his serious demeanor would distract Dean from further teasing.

Dean blithely shrugged off the comment. In truth, though, he knew Sam was right. He had been teasing Sammy more. For the past several weeks, Sam had kept talking about what he wanted to do when he grew up and that scared Dean. Dean had always assumed that he and his brother would become hunters, the family business. Now, it seemed that Sam was having other ideas. If Dean could keep his brother from having those thoughts, maybe, just maybe, they would become hunters together.

“Would you just come over here?” Dean said as though exasperated by the whole conversation.

“All right,” Sam said, resuming his pace. “Although if this is another trick, I’m gonna lock you out of the room.”

Dean made a big show of rolling his eyes, then gestured into the open car door. “I just figured you’d want to know that your friend came tonight.”

“Friend?” Sam exclaimed, stopping short. Dean regretted using the word. Even playfully, the word “friend” served as an insulting reminder that neither Sam nor he had any. In fact, since driving to east bumfuck Idaho, it had been weeks since the boys had talked to another kid their age.

Dean mentally cursed himself for using the word and quickly explained: “Yeah, this big furry guy with long ears.”

Sam thought a moment, then his eyes lit up. A brightness entered his entire face, an excitement, a pureness so precious that Dean almost had to look away. “The Easter Bunny!” Sam cried triumphantly, skipping the last few steps to the Impala.

Sure enough, the entire interior of the car was littered with small plastic eggs. With a gleeful giggle, Sam launched himself into the car and began to collect them.

Dean watched for a few seconds with a complicated expression on his face. Then, he started to walk back to the motel room. “You’d better find them all! Dad will kill us if he finds one in there when he gets back.”

Unconsciously, he looked over to the dive bar across the street. “Ah hell,” Dean called, “Maybe leave an egg or two. It’d be a good joke to play on _him_!”

Sam, Age 11

“Wake up, Sammy!” Dean shook his brother roughly.

Sam moaned, “Ah. Dean. Stop!”

Dean allowed his brother to get up to a sitting position before looking conspiratorially around the room. “Dude, I know Dad’s not here, so I think someone broke into our room last night.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. He could tell by Dean’s incredibly forced “I’m scared” face that his brother was just messing with him. But he wondered what the end game was. “Okay…” he started.

“Dude, I’m serious!” Dean insisted, even though Sam knew that when Dean said “dude” so many times, he definitely was not. “I think he left something for you.”

“What did he leave?” Sam replied, trying to play along.

“I don’t know, but you’d better check the closet.”

With as much enthusiasm as he could muster, Sam got up, ran a hand through his hair, then proceeded to the closet. Dean stood behind him as he opened the door and saw a small green and pink basket lying in the middle of the floor. The basket was filled with plastic eggs.

Sam spent a moment just staring at the basket. He looked back to his brother, whose face wore a stupid grin.

“Wow,” Sam muttered. He bent down to pick up the basket, while Dean added: “Didn’t think he’d come, did you?”

Sam turned around to face his brother. He knew that his face was betraying him. “Listen, Dean. This is such a great gesture.” Immediately, Dean’s smile fell.

“Dean,” Sam said as his brother stalked towards the motel door. “Dean!” The door slammed shut.

“Dean,” Sam shouted as he threw the basket on the bed, its contents spilling everywhere. Pulling on his shoes, he opened the door and ran to catch up with his brother.

He put out an arm to catch Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, I’m sorry. I should have told you that I knew.” He was surprised when Dean spun around to face him so suddenly.

“But what?” Dean spat. “You thought you’d make me look like an idiot first?”

“No, Dean. That’s not what I wanted. It’s just…listen, Dad told me a couple months ago.”

“Dad?” Dean said, cutting him off. “Dad told you about the Easter Bunny?”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted, “I was beginning to suspect and I guess I assumed that he had helped you, you know, do all that stuff for me over the years. But when I brought up the Easter Bunny, he just laughed and I realized the truth. Dean,” he said, looking into his brother’s eyes, “every year you pretended that the Easter Bunny really existed. You did that for me.”

Disarmed by the change in conversation, Dean seemed flustered. “Yeah, well. You were a kid.”

“And you let me _be_ a kid,” Sam smiled cautiously. “You could have told me the truth years ago, but you didn’t. You played along. You protected me.”

Dean shrugged dismissively. “You’re my little brother. You deserved to have a little fun.” What he didn’t say was that Sam deserved so much more than that. That Sammy deserved to be happy, to live a normal life. At the very least, he deserved to spend a few hours each year not worried about monsters or where their father had gone or what the future held. He deserved to have a few moments each year to eat some dollar-store candy and look for some dopey eggs.

“Dean, I…” Sam stopped. He swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

Dean waved his hands. “Come on, stop it.”

“No really,” Sam pressed. “You said the Easter Bunny existed and he did…He was you. Thank you.”

Dean laughed derisively, but his eyes looked into the sky and glistened. There was so much to say and yet there were no words.

Then, just like that, Dean looked back at Sam. “Come on, dude. Let’s dig into those eggs.”

“Hey, who said I was sharing?” Sam retorted, but then he smiled. Dean responded with a set of protests, but Sam hardly listened. He just grinned broadly while they walked back to the motel room side-by-side. His brother’s hand rested casually on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Sam thought aloud, “I guess this means the Easter Bunny really does fight monsters.”

Sam, Age 12 

“You’re home late,” Dean said as Sam opened the door to their room at the Desert Hills Motel.

“I had some homework that I needed to go to the library for.” Sam replied as his eyes darted around the room refusing to meet Dean’s stare. Sam was a pretty terrible liar.

Dean sighed and said, “Whatever. Just be glad Dad isn’t here. He doesn’t like us going anywhere other than straight from the motel to school and back. It’s how we stay safe.”

This would have usually started what was becoming a common argument between the brothers. Sam thought their Dad was controlling. Dean thought Sam was a brat. Both were certain that they were in the right. But for some reason today Sam just shrugged it off and went over to the small table in the room and got out his books to start his homework. “Nerd,” Dean muttered. And with that, Sam’s infraction was soon forgotten.

Two days later, when Dean woke up, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed watching TV. It was Sunday, and Dean went to the kitchenette to make breakfast as usual when he saw a gaudy purple foil-wrapped chocolate rabbit and a couple of plastic eggs.

“What’s this?” Dean asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” Sam said with poorly feigned nonchalance. “I think they’re for you. They must be from the Easter Bunny.”

Dean rolled his eyes and realized that this must have been why Sam came home late on Friday. Then, smiling to himself, he picked up the bunny and promptly bit off its ears.

“You’re an animal, you know that?” Sam smirked.

Dean flashed him a “you know it” grin and tossed Sam an egg. They sat in silence watching the TV and eating candy for a few minutes.

“The Easter Bunny…” Dean laughed suddenly, shaking his head.

Sam smiled. “Happy Easter, jerk.”


End file.
